


Must Be Tuesday

by fadagaski



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Community: where_no_woman, Family, Gen, Genderqueer, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Queerphobia, Teen Angst, Two-Spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joanna McCoy turns up on Christine's doorstep one nondescript day in May, and brings with her more baggage than can be carried in a duffel. Christine never signed up for family counseling, but it looks like that's what she's been drafted in to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must Be Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CakeorDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakeorDeath/gifts).



> No insult is intended or implied to any person who identifies in the very large bracket labeled 'genderqueer'. I've tried to tackle the issue sensitively here. If you feel I have made any faux pas at any point in the fic, please let me know both the issue and a solution that you would like me to implement. I am happy to discuss my choices in the writing of this fic with anyone who asks.

Christine was flushed, sweaty and out of breath from her interrupted exercise program when the doorbell rang. Mopping her forehead with a towel, she hung it around her neck and skirted the couch to the door. A quick observation through the camera showed an olive-skinned girl, apparently human, with long dark hair and a backpack over one shoulder. Not anyone that Christine recognised, but she palmed the open button anyway.

Leonard McCoy's eyes met Christine's in a solid, challenging stare.

*

Joanna McCoy was tall, thin, and gangly, and seemed to hover in Christine's living room with every ounce of awkwardness a teenager could possess.

After relieving her guest of the backpack, Christine ushered her into the kitchenette where she fished out a can of soda from the fridge for the kid, and made herself a cup of tea. Joanna slouched in the uncomfortable plastic chair with a casual disregard of her spinal alignment that made Christine wince, though she didn't mention it.

The silence was oppressive. Christine was in half a mind to wait until Joanna cracked, but she had appointments later in the day that couldn't wait for an end to teenage recalcitrance. Or McCoy recalcitrance. Whichever.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," Christine said, "but to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Joanna fidgeted in the chair, finger tracing beads of condensation on her soda can. There were dark bags under her eyes that worried the nurse in Christine, and her hair was greasy as if it hadn't seen the inside of a shower in a few days. She took a sip of tea to keep her tongue.

After a deep breath, Joanna glanced up at Christine and quickly away again. "I ran away," she mumbled. Christine could feel the creases forming on her forehead with the lift of one eyebrow, a McCoy habit she had acquired in the last five years of service. Joanna certainly seemed to recognise it, because she looked up again and blanched.

"And that brings you here because ...?" Christine prompted. She had served on the _USS Enterprise_ under Captain James T. Kirk. Nothing could surprise her. Not even her former boss' daughter randomly appearing at her door on an overcast Tuesday in May.

"I – I just needed to get away. From my mother."

"Your mother – Jocelyn? What happened?" Christine was surprised when Joanna flushed and sank lower in her chair. Her face got that mulish look Christine so often associated with Leonard before he dragged the Captain to Sickbay. There was no arguing with that look.

Sighing, Christine stood and put her mug in the washer, then turned to look at her guest with folded arms and an unhappy frown. Joanna stared fixedly at her soda can.

"Fine, you can stay," Christine said. Hope bloomed across Joanna's face, chasing away the sullen shadows. "Temporarily. I don't have the facilities or the clearance to have a permanent guest here, and you're – what, twelve?"

"Thirteen."

"Whatever. Too young to be out of school. So. This is a temporary visit." She regarded Joanna coolly for a long moment. "Go clean up. There's an en suite adjacent to my room." Wisely, Joanna scarpered.

Christine waited until she heard the high whine of the sonics through the wall before sitting at her computer in the living room. In one window she pulled up the file on Joanna McCoy, her medical history and academic scores. In another, she composed a brief message to Leonard informing him that Joanna was safe, that Christine was looking after her. 'Getting away' or not, Christine was not about to bring down a wrath on her head that would put a mama bear to shame.

*

The appointments scheduled for the afternoon really couldn't wait, so after making a quick lunch for them both, Christine left Joanna with restricted access to her computer and strict instructions not to leave the apartment, or Christine would be only the first in a long line of people to hunt down and kill her. Perversely, the threat eased some of the tension from Joanna's bony shoulders.

"I'll stay. Promise," she said with a small smile. Christine nodded, satisfied, and left for the Academy.

An allotted hour at Medical in discussion about the courses she wanted to run over summer turned into three hours on the politics of arranging a class tentatively called 'Actual Practical Field Medicine in Space That They Don't Teach You Here', followed by an hour-long coffee meeting with Admiral Pike, whom had maintained a casual contact with both Leonard and Christine after his promotion. On the whole, Christine was satisfied despite the unusual start to the day, and she returned via the little Japanese restaurant at the bottom of the hill for takeout. She didn't think there was enough food in her 'Fleet apartment to feed even herself, never mind a growing teenager as well.

Joanna was fast asleep on the couch when Christine returned. She looked ridiculously young curled up around a cushion, the dark shadows under her eyes so similar to Leonard after long hours of surgery. Tiptoeing through her own home felt more than a little ridiculous, but Christine was reluctant to wake the girl when she clearly needed the rest.

Luckily, Joanna woke not long after sunset, blinking with bleary eyes around the room before her brain came back online. Christine clicked her chopsticks to gain her attention. "Come eat. I got katsu curry and gyoza."

"Thanks," Joanna muttered, settling into a seat at the table. And then she inhaled her food. Christine could only watch in horrified fascination as Joanna wolfed down everything in sight with even less grace than Kirk displayed.

Once finished, Joanna leaned back with a satisfied sigh. She wiped her hands on a napkin and let out a little burp. "Excuse me."

"Feel better?" Christine asked with quirked eyebrow. Joanna blushed. "Good. Now we talk – and don't even think of arguing with me."

"Yes ma'am," she muttered, something of her daddy's drawl crawling into the vowels alongside the sullen resentment. Christine rolled her eyes as she pushed back her chair.

"Go sit on the couch. You want some soda?" she asked.

"Tea. Please."

Christine took her time making chamomile tea for them both, poking at the limp bags with a spoon as they bobbed in hot water. In the moments of quiet, she formulated a plan of attack. Joanna was like a patient, a stubborn, pig-headed Command patient who was hurt somewhere but didn't want to say where. It was up to Medical staff to tease out the truth from reticent gold-shirted Captains and their ilk.

She wondered, idly, if Leonard was aware of the peculiarities in his daughter's personality, and whether he would even contemplate her going into Command. Into Starfleet at all.

"Here." Christine offered Joanna the mug handle-first. "It's hot, be careful."

"Thank you," Joanna said. With a small smile, Christine curled up in the squishy armchair, her great-aunt's crochet blanket warm and soft against her back. She took a calming sip of tea before facing Joanna squarely.

"So," she opened. Joanna hid half her face behind the mug. "I told your dad you're here." Wide eyes zeroed in on Christine.

"What? Why?"

"Don't be stupid, Jo. He might be on the far side of the Alpha Quadrant but someone needs to know where you are, and I don't have your mama's number. She's probably worried sick."

"She probably doesn't even know I'm gone. She's too busy with that – that – _thing_!" The last word exploded out, followed by a hiss of pain as hot tea sloshed over Joanna's spindly fingers. "Dammit." Christine lifted one eyebrow in a grand CMO impression. Joanna simmered in silence, sucking on her knuckles.

"What 'thing'?" More silence. "Joanna," Christine said in a warning tone, "don't test me. I've already been inconvenienced by your arrival. You've got one chance to make your case before I report you to the police. You'll be booted back to Georgia so hard you might pass your daddy in orbit. Understood?" When Joanna nodded once, a miserable little twitch of the head, Christine quashed her irritation with another sip of tea. "Now. What 'thing' are you talking about?"

The pause was long enough Christine thought she wouldn't get an answer. Joanna put down her mug of tea and folded her hands in her lap, where they twisted and writhed. Just as Christine was about to get up and call the police, because dammit she was a woman of her word and she really _had_ been inconvenienced today, Joanna took a fortifying breath. Christine waited.

"My mom is Native American. Sort of. Like, a quarter Cherokee or somethin'. She was doin' all this research because, y'know, she's my mom and she's real smart and she always likes learnin'. I guess that means I'm, like, an eighth or somethin'? Anyway," she took another deep breath, and Christine could hear it quaver around the edges, "she was lookin' up this thing called 'Two-Spirit'. Y'ever heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have," Christine said. She kept her tone and face neutral and open, though she wasn't sure at this point that Joanna wasn't distracting herself from the problem.

"I looked it up after mama told me. It's where a person has both male and female in them, or somethin' like that. Mama said that's what she was, which – I don't really understand it. Like, does that mean she was a man married to my dad? Or was he, like, a girl sometimes?" Her forehead contorted in a typical McCoy frown of consternation.

"Was that the 'thing'?" Christine prompted. Joanna hesitated, and then shook her head.

"No. I mean, it's weird, and I don't get it, but she's still my mom, y'know? I'll love her no matter what." Again, a pause.

"So…?" Joanna wriggled in the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her long arms around them, her chin coming to rest in the divot of her left knee.

"Mama's a lawyer, right? We live in Atlanta to be close to my grammy and to daddy's folks, but mama works in New York with asylum seekers. And she wears _skirts_ to work, so I don't get it at all. If she's got a man's spirit in her, wouldn't she wanna wear pants?"

"Chief Engineer Scott aboard the _Enterprise_ wears a kilt as part of his dress uniform," Christine commented mildly. "In the history of his culture, the kilt was a very masculine piece of clothing, though to us it just looks like a plaid skirt." Joanna blinked dark eyes at her, mouth forming a little 'o', as if it had never occurred to her that other people might have different ideas about gender-appropriate clothes.

Well, she was only thirteen. Christine tried to keep that in mind when she felt her patience wear thin.

"So, anyway," Joanna continued, "mama's real good, but sometimes on the hard cases she'll bring clients home to Georgia. And there was this one, this – its name is Saratoga, after the ship that picked it up."

"'It'?"

"I – That's the pronoun it chose. I tried calling it 'she' but mom told me off." She looked at Christine, but Christine refused to show approval or disappointment. Joanna shrank back against the couch. "A-anyway," she said, shaky, "Saratoga's from this planet with three genders. There's male and female, like here, but in order to breed they have to use a third gender, which they call a 'cogenitor'."

"You're talking about the Vissians," Christine said. She remembered learning about their biology at the Academy, and about their class system, and the increasingly violent rebellion that began after first contact with the _Enterprise NX-01_ under Captain Archer and continued even today. It was a lesson drilled into them by the Ethics professor: our standards are not their standards, and even when they are, it's not our place to go stirring up a cultural revolution before they're good and ready to bring it about themselves.

"They're really weird looking," Joanna said. At Christine's sharp look, she explained hurriedly: "It's their eyes. They've got this weird bone structure around the sockets, makes 'em look like they're staring at everythin'. Damn creepy if you ask me." Christine rolled her eyes, hearing the deeper echo of Leonard's many tangential, pseudo-xenophobic rants on the first tour.

"Let me guess. Your mom hooked up with this Saratoga, right? And it freaked you out."

"I –" Joanna started, but she flushed and sank further down in her chair, so that half her face was hidden behind the wall of her knees. Christine eyed her with a shrewdness borne of long years stuck in a tin can in space with the same people for company, day in and day out, and no option but to learn all their foibles and interesting quirks.

"She didn't tell you, did she? You walked in on them." Which, even Christine could understand was a little traumatising. No one wanted to realise so fully that their parents were sexual creatures.

"They weren't – I mean – They – not like that!" Joanna said, looking disgusted. "Ew." Christine lifted an eyebrow.

"Okaaaay, so – what? Were they holding hands? Is that what it is? You can deal with your mom being two-spirit but you can't deal with her having a relationship with a cogenitor? Are you really that selfish? You couldn't bear to share your mama with one other being in the whole galaxy? I mean, God, Joanna, it's a pretty damn big universe, with a lot of sentient beings in it, and you had to begrudge your mom finding one to share a bit of happiness with?"

"No, I –"

"Let me tell you, kid, man and woman isn't the only way to make a family, even on Earth. If you're gonna be so pig-headed you can't see something beautiful when it comes along, you're gonna have a long and lonely life by yourself, y'hear?

"What? No! That's not it –"

"Then what?" Christine burst out, frustrated by this mini-Leonard with her teenage logic and the tears brimming in her eyes. "What could your mother possibly have done to deserve your disrespect?"

Leonard McCoy would have fought back. Leonard McCoy would have snarled and growled and blustered until the air was clear, like a summer storm sweeping away the humidity.

Joanna let out a choked sob and started to cry.

For a moment, Christine was so shocked she didn't move. Joanna choked and hiccupped and pressed her forehead to her knees, shoulders heaving. It was the muffled " _mama_ " that spurred Christine to action. In a flash she was on the couch next to Joanna, hauling the gangly girl into her arms. Joanna went willingly, limbs flopping to either side of Christine as she buried her face against Christine's blues. "Mama, mama," she moaned.

"Ssh, ssh," Christine soothed, running her hands in gentle strokes over Joanna's back, her cheek resting against the top of her dark head. "It's okay. It's okay. Ssh."

It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like hours before Joanna finally calmed, tears drying to salty streaks on her skin, breath laboured but even as she leaned boneless against Christine.

"You smell like daddy," she murmured with her snotty nose rubbing against Christine's shoulder.

"Comes with the trade," Christine said. She kept up her steady petting of Joanna's long hair, running the strands through her fingers, picking out what knots she found.

"They were fightin'," Joanna murmured, apropos of nothing. "I came back from school early when Drama club was cancelled. They were inside and they were fightin' about me. And it was –" her voice hitched, but there were no more tears. "My parents used to fight, when dad still lived at home."

"You didn't run away when you were little though," Christine pointed out, not unkindly. Joanna's thin shoulders shrugged once.

"Daddy loves me, and so does mama. I never had to worry about that. But Saratoga, she – I mean, it doesn't know me. And mama's chosen to be with it, when she's been happy before with just us. So …"

"I get it." She wouldn't make Joanna spell it out. "But Jo-jo, sweetheart, you _ran away from home_. When did this all happen?" Joanna wriggled, burying her face in Christine's shirt. Annoyed, Christine gripped the girl by her shoulders and pushed her back, looking her in the eye. "Joanna. How long have you been away?"

"A week," she muttered.

"A week?! God, Jo, your mom'll be sick with worry! She's probably got every officer in Georgia hunting for you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don' – Just. God. Okay." Christine took a deep, soothing breath through her nose. When she released it, she pushed aside all her worry and frustration, taking on the mantle of calm that being Head Nurse of the _Enterprise_ had gifted her. "It's fine. What's done is done. Now we contact your mother and get her to come pick you up. You will apologise to her for all the trouble you've caused, you will make up, and everything will look better in Atlanta. Okay?" It wasn't a question that required answering, so Joanna remained silent.

Christine stood and moved to the computer, straightening her uniform as she went. The wet patch at her shoulder slid itchy and cold against her skin, but she brushed the sensation aside as she sat at the terminal. "What's the number?" she called to Jo, and punched it in.

Immediately the haggard appearance of Jocelyn Darnell filled the screen, looking first desperately hopeful, and then resigned when she saw it wasn't who she had prayed for. "Can I help you?" she asked. Christine was impressed at the cool detachment in her voice, though it was ruined by the dark circles underneath bloodshot eyes.

"Jocelyn Darnell? My name is Christine Chapel. I served with Leonard aboard the _Enterprise_ on its first tour."

"Oh?"

"Yes. For reasons unknown to anyone but her, Joanna has decided to come see me. She's right here, safe and sound."

The effect on Jocelyn was instantaneous. Lines of tension in her face vanished, and her whole body seemed to sag as though the strings had been cut.

"Thank God," she whispered.

"Joss?" came a voice from the left of the screen. Jocelyn glanced up and gave a watery smile to the invisible person.

"She's okay. She's with one of Leonard's colleagues." Her eyes swivelled back to Christine. "Where are you? Can I come get her? Is she really okay? Was she with you the entire time?" Christine held up a hand to forestall the flood of questions.

"She's really okay. Turned up here this morning in need of a scrub and a hot meal, but other than that she's right as rain. Why don't you come by in the morning and pick her up?"

"I – Yes. Of course. Is she there now? Can I talk to her?" The eagerness in her voice made Christine's heart ache for her.

"Jo?" she called over her shoulder. It took a moment, but then the girl was unfolding her long legs from the couch and padding over to the terminal. Christine vacated the chair for Joanna to slide in.

"Hi mama," she said in a voice like weak tea.

"Oh baby-girl," came the reply, followed by a loud sob.

Christine left the room.

*

When Christine had said 'in the morning' she had not counted on Jocelyn turning up at 0700 sharp, leaning on the chime until Christine stumbled out of bed in her pyjamas to beep the door open. For her part, Jocelyn looked a little guilty for obviously disturbing Christine's rest, but Christine's medical eyes told her Joceyln hadn't rested at all, and had probably waited for as long as she possibly could.

"Come in," Christine said. "I'll make coffee."

"She doesn't drink it," Joanna said from her little nest on the couch.

"Who said it was for her?" Christine muttered, but it was ignored as Jocelyn raced into the room and flung herself at Joanna. There was sobbing and incomprehensible mumbles and what sounded like a fair bit of foul language from Jocelyn, though Christine supposed she _had_ been married to Leonard McCoy.

As she was pivoting towards the little kitchenette she noticed the androgynous figure hovering in the doorway. Shorter than Christine herself, with pale skin and the wide-eyes Joanna had described – "You must be Saratoga," Christine said. "I'm Christine Chapel." And then, because this was Earth and it was the traditional custom, Christine stuck out her hand.

To its credit, Saratoga only hesitated for a split second before completing the handshake. Its skin was dry and very warm, almost Vulcan.

"Hello," it said.

"Do you want coffee? Or tea?" she said.

"Tea, please."

"Right this way." Christine gestured for it to follow her into the kitchenette, where she set about making coffee for herself – a Med School vice common to doctor and nurse alike – and tea for Saratoga. "I've got a few herbal ones if you like, or plain old English Breakfast. Here – take your pick." She pushed the box along the worktop to Saratoga, who picked through the selection with a casual ease that suggested it had long broken the bonds and trained responses of its home planet.

"This one," it said, and pulled out a rose tea.

"Good choice."

They stood in silence together as the tea steeped and the hysterics from the couch subsided to quiet murmurs. Christine felt like she should be making conversation, but she was still half asleep, and Saratoga didn't seem to mind.

The first sip of coffee scorched Christine's mouth. She winced as she swallowed, then splashed her fingers when her comm trilled loudly. "Goddamnit," she muttered, blowing on her fingers as she stalked to the terminal, not looking at mother and daughter curled together on the couch.

"Yes?" she snapped to the face that appeared on the screen, and then did a double-take. "Oh! Good morning, or night, or whatever it is there."

"Dammit Christine, I don't have time for small talk. Where is she?" Leonard McCoy growled. Christine rolled her eyes so hard she felt a twinge in the stalks.

"Jo?" she barked. The doctor's mood always rubbed off on her, no matter how she tried to avoid it. "It's your father." There was a shuffle and a flail and what sounded like a shin connecting with the coffee table edge, and then Joanna was all but shunting Christine out of the way.

"Dad?"

"Joanna McCoy, so help me, if you ever put this many grey hairs on my head again I will _ground_ you in your _room_ until you're _fifty_! Do you understand me, missy?"

"Yes daddy."

"Don't you 'daddy' me. Goddamnit, Jo, you had me an' Jim both worried to death, an' that was _after_ Christine sent me a message."

"'m sorry. Please don't be mad." Joanna slumped in the chair. Christine didn't think it was faked for the sake of paternal indulgence.

"Ah hell, darlin'," Leonard muttered. "I ain't mad." At Joanna's disbelieving look, he snorted. "Okay, so I'm mad as hell. But it's only because I love you so much. Me an' your mama, we don't agree on hardly nothing 'cept how much we love you. So when you see her next, by God you had better apologise a hundred times over."

"She's here now," Joanna said. Leonard's eyebrows rose on his face.

"Is she?" His glance darted past Joanna to the room beyond. "Joss? Y'alright?"

Jocelyn wobbled over from the couch to stand beside her daughter, leaning down so her tear-streaked face was visible to Leonard.

"We're okay," she said.

"Good," he said. Then he drew in a deep breath, expression darkening like imminent thunder. From where she stood, Christine could see the tension strum through Jocelyn and Joanna both. "Goddamnit, Joss, what in hell you been doin' that sent our daughter runnin' to my Head Nurse?"

"Dad, it wasn't mama's fault."

"You hush," he snapped. "Jesus, she's only thirteen. She ain't got no business tearin' off to San Francisco by herself. What d'you think –" The lights in his room aboard the _Enterprise_ suddenly flickered and died, before coming up again in a shade of red that made him look even more tired and angry than he was.

"This is the captain," came a tinny voice. "All hands to battle stations. Repeat: all hands to battle stations. Kirk out."

"Goddamnit Jim! I'm tryin' to have a conversation here!" Leonard hollered, apparently to no one. He reached forward to end the comm, looking at Joanna. "Be good for your mama," he said. "I love you." Then he looked at Jocelyn. "'m sorry." The feed ended.

"He'll be okay," Joanna said. She peered at Christine over her bony shoulder. "Right?"

Christine scoffed. "A red alert on the _Enterprise_? Must be Tuesday." She returned Jocelyn's grateful smile with a small nod.

"Right then," Jocelyn said. She placed a thin hand – that was where Joanna's skinny fingers came from – on her daughter's head. "I think Nurse Chapel has tolerated enough bother from the McCoy clan to last her a lifetime. Grab your stuff. It's time to go."

It was a flurry of activity then as Joanna flew around the room gathering the few things she had somehow managed to scatter everywhere, while Jocelyn called off the search back in Georgia. Christine stood to one side with Saratoga, mug in hand.

"Are you okay?" she murmured to it, low enough that no one else would hear. Saratoga twitched its shoulders forward, which Christine assumed was a shrug.

"I have learnt much from Jocelyn. I'm – fond of her. But if she chooses Joanna over me, I will move on. I am my own person, a valuable person. She has shown me that much." It sipped the last of the rose tea, and put the cup on the side. They watched mother and daughter meet in the middle of the room, bag packed, each smiling nervous, watery smiles.

"Maybe she doesn't have to choose," Christine pointed out. "It's not a competition between you and Jo. She's just … young."

"Hmm."

"Well," Christine said, shrugging the last day from her shoulders like water from a duck's back. "It's none of my business, and if I don't see another McCoy for the next few months I'll be happy." She stuck out her hand again. "Welcome to Earth. It was a pleasure to meet you." They shook.

"Sara?" Joanna called from the door. "Are you coming home with us?" Her voice was still a bit reedy from tears, but she looked Saratoga in the eye. Christine was proud of her.

"If you wish," Saratoga hedged. Joanna gave a firm nod. "Alright then." The door shut behind them all.

Christine went back to bed.


End file.
